Hold Me Tight and Don't Let Go
by That70sshowlova
Summary: Steve was not an irrational man. That being said, planes scared him more than he cared to admit.


Steve was not an irrational man.

Well known for his ability to think calmly and rationally, to direct orders under pressure, to lead in times of crisis. He was rarely off duty, which required quick thinking on his part. Working for S.H.I.E.L.D and leading the Avengers didn't give him much time for vacation. It seemed he was always on call, constantly traveling across the country, across continents. This wasn't a foreign concept to him, either. During the war when he wasn't training and regrouping, he was on the move. By car, boat, train, that disastrous experiment with Howard's jetpack, and airplanes.

The twenty-first century was a learning experience. Technology had moved at such a rapid pace that it was difficult to catch up, and it showed no signs of stopping. Everything was safer, sleeker, more compact. Statistically speaking, he had more of a reason to fear riding in a car than an airplane.

That being said, planes scared him more than he cared to admit.

The rational part of his brain tried to soothe him as his hands tightened on the arm rests and the plastic cracked under pressure.

The memory was sharp in his mind. He heard Peggy on the comm and saw the water coming closer. The ice pierced his lungs, the waves dragged him under, the metal of the plane surrounded him. And then nothing.

He recalled the pilot warning them of turbulence as the plane jolted, but he wasn't thinking rationally. His hand jumped to the closest thing to find purchase and comfort, and he gripped tight.

Her cool gaze slid to him slowly, curiously, and then back to their entwined hands. She had healing scrapes on her temple and her cheekbone, dirt and grime still smudged at her chin and her forehead. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail and a pen was tucked behind her ear. Her paperwork sat neglected on her lap. Her lips pulled into a smirk as she once again glanced at his hand squeezing hers.

His grip slackened, and then pulled away all together. He could feel his ears burning as he ducked his head and rubbed at his neck.

"Easy, soldier."

"I am so sorry, ma'am." He hadn't called her ma'am in months. It took constant reminders and when that didn't work, sharp glares. It seemed his embarrassment had reverted him back into the bashful, stuttering boy from the thirties. "I don't know what came over me. If you'd like me to move, I'd completely understand. I really didn't mean to."

He kept rambling and she watched amused, finding it slightly endearing but mostly hilarious. The blush creeped up his face and he pressed his lips together tightly, and stood up to switch seats. She placed her hand on his shoulder until he slowly sat down.

"My, my. So forward, Steve. Keep making moves like that and a girl might start to make assumptions."

"Ha, ha," he muttered under his breath. He looked at her with what Stark called his 'kicked puppy eyes'. "I really am sorry, though." He looked at what once could be called the armrest and then at her sheepishly. "I still get a little nervous on airplanes." He glanced out her window, where you could just make out the ocean. "New century, I guess."

She was constantly amazed at how awful he was at lying, but she didn't call him out on it. She read his file, and she heard when they found him in the ice. They pulled him, still breathing, out of the remnants of a plane almost seventy years after the crash. She idly wondered if he remembered being trapped in the ice, if he was conscious for any of it. She looked at him, with his bashful grin and his puppy eyes that were still intact after all the shit he had been put through, and thought he was the last person who deserved that.

She nodded quietly in understanding and he gave her a small smile.

He relaxed as best he could into his seat as she returned to the mission report in her lap. His attention turned to the scrapes on his arms and legs. Neither of them had time to change out of their uniforms and he tried to focus on the strained fabric. He would need an upgrade soon, or a patch job before the loose threads turned into holes.

Focusing on their ruined uniforms and the dull aches in his body kept his mind off the airplane, until there was another patch of turbulence.

His fingers curled around the mangled plastic again and he nearly jumped when he felt her palm slip over top of his. He stared at her in shock, but her face revealed nothing as her eyes skimmed the report.

He couldn't keep the smile off his face when she squeezed his hand.


End file.
